


medice, cura te ipsum

by autumnstwilight (sewohayami)



Category: Episode Ardyn: Prologue, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Illness, Plague, Unhappy Ending, canonical aerdyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21682528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewohayami/pseuds/autumnstwilight
Summary: Attacked in his childhood by a daemon, a son of House Caelum manifests mysterious healing powers, the people's only source of hope regarding the plague that sweeps their lands. Ardyn Lucis Caelum watches on as this "blessing" turns his younger brother into a bitter and broken man.Episode Ardyn, with an Ardyn-Somnus fateswap.
Relationships: Aera Mirus Fleuret/Ardyn Izunia, Ardyn Izunia & Somnus Lucis Caelum
Comments: 20
Kudos: 25





	1. Advent

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding ships: the premise of this fic is imagining how things would have gone between Ardyn and Somnus if Somnus had been the one with healing powers. I tried not to change much else about the character's initial situations, therefore Aera/Ardyn is present in this fic, but their relationship isn't the point of the story. No other ships will be present or hinted at.

After some consideration, Ardyn slid his rook forward across the chessboard, observing the way Somnus’ eyebrows pinched as he did. He was deliberately taking the riskier of two strategies, one that could possibly be exploited by his younger brother if he thought the problem all the way through. And indeed, it did seem that Somnus was thinking, at least until he grunted in annoyance and moved his queen into the fray, countering Ardyn’s aggressive move with aggression of his own. Ah well. It seemed that his younger brother still lacked the same level of foresight that he did, simply becoming frustrated and reckless when he could not see an immediate solution.

Time to clean up then. Six moves to checkmate.

He quickly moved his own piece, having planned out his own strategy. As he waited for Somnus to respond, a shadow slipped across the courtyard, barely catching in the corner of his vision. Perhaps it was not the sight, but the prickling on his neck which caused him to turn.

The sun had set, leaving only a faint purple streak across the western horizon, and the moon had been out in full since late afternoon. It was a well-lit evening, torches flickering merrily along the walls of the manor. Wavering shadows were to be expected. But this shadow seemed more than two-dimensional, bubbling up from the earth and taking form.

Ardyn was on his feet then, sword in hand, and he heard the chess pieces clatter on the ground behind him as Somnus, too, leapt into a fighting stance. The shadow creature now towered over both of them, scythe-like blades attached to its wrists, piercing through its hands, a horrible face that could have been human, but for the inhuman agony and wrath it showed. It swung its arm at Ardyn, and he blocked it with the flat of his blade, but the creature was strong, stronger than any man he had ever fought. A second blow sent him stumbling backward.

Somnus charged forward, practically dragging the blade that was almost as long as he was tall. His swing hit with force, sinking into the creature’s flesh. But the creature merely roared in fury, and raked through the air with razor claws. Blood stained the blue of Somnus’ robes, and he fell. Ardyn rushed forward, hoping to blindside the creature, to get him away from Somnus, but was caught in the head with another crushing blow. He struggled to his hands and knees, and gasped at what he saw.

The creature was lunging for Somnus, blade still lodged in its chest. Defenseless, Somnus cried out and threw up a hand to shield himself. A strange power gathered within his palm. The creature began to disintegrate, like dust on an invisible wind, drawn into that nexus of power. Soon, there was nothing left but a wisp of smoke, floating on the evening breeze.

“Somnus! What did you-!”

But Somnus had fallen unconscious.

* * *

Over the years, the sharp memory of that evening blurred like fresh ink immersed in water. He met Somnus, strolling across the courtyard in the early hours. His brother’s physician had advised him to keep up his physical activity and exposure to fresh air and sunlight, in the hopes that it would stave off the progression of what was ailing him. And indeed, Somnus stood tall, walking with an ease in his stride. His arms were wrapped under his gauntlets, hiding the muddied purple and black markings that Ardyn knew were there, had been there, growing, ever since that first encounter with a daemon so many years ago.

“Good morning!” he called, and Somnus gave him a nod in response.

He hurried the last few steps, reaching Somnus’ side. “How goes your rest?”

Somnus snorted, “Could always use more.”

Ardyn smiled, he knew well his brother’s fondness for sleep. “Indeed. Still, the people have need of your aid. They await you.”

For a moment Somnus looked discouraged, before he replaced his expression with a mask of nonchalance. Ardyn frowned. His brother had always desired the love of their people, and his powers had earned him great favor. They came from miles around to see the great healer lord, and though Ardyn was the elder of the two, he already suspected that he would have to cede his claim to his younger brother. The admiration wasn’t one-sided. He knew that Somnus desired to do his duty, to aid the people in return. He had been so brave, even as a child.

_If… If I can do this… Then I have to, right? It’s not fair unless I help everyone I can…_

And so he had, for many years, working six days a week and taking the seventh to recover. But the stream of visitors to the manor rarely ceased, and they came from further and further away, telling tales of the plague that had struck their hometowns.

Somnus’ burden was heavy, Ardyn knew. The Gods exacted a high price for their blessings. It was natural for him to struggle with it. His mood had darkened as of late, and Ardyn feared that there was a carefree side to his brother that was being lost forever. Still, he hoped that Somnus would be able to keep his spirits up, and faith that the Gods would see this through to the end.

“Let us play a game of chess this evening,” Ardyn suggested, keeping his tone light. These little things were becoming so important, now that the darkness approached.

“Very well,” replied Somnus. But he didn’t look at Ardyn, continuing to stare across the garden. “I must go. They’ll be lining up already.”

Ardyn nodded. “Godspeed, Somnus.”

* * *

He could tell that his brother was wearied when he returned. The straight posture of that morning was gone, replaced with a careless slouch and a slight drag to one leg. He practically threw himself into the chair on the other side of the chessboard. The first move was his, the one concession that he would accept, and he shoved a pawn forward with more force than necessary, clicking against the board.

Ardyn didn’t have the heart to play aggressively, not when his brother was clearly so exhausted. He chose moves that were feasible, but flawed, allowing Somnus the opportunity to claim a piece or two when he got too far ahead. Yet Somnus missed, or chose to ignore, even some of the most blatant opportunities, beginning to nod in his seat when Ardyn took too long to consider his next move. Ardyn pondered, before leaving yet another opening.

When he finished his turn, Somnus looked at the board, as though considering, then made a disgusted face.

“If you’re not going to take me seriously, what’s the godsdamned point?”

“Oh. Too obvious?”

“By far, brother. I don’t desire your pity one bit.”

“It’s not…” Ardyn began, and then halted at the expression on Somnus’ face. Alright, maybe it _was_ pity. Though Ardyn would have preferred to call it sympathy. He knew full well that Somnus would be in an equally foul mood if he had lost in a mere handful of turns. Perhaps this game they were playing was a no-win situation.

He relented, playing the next move to the full extent of his ability. Somnus huffed as he looked at the pieces, not adept enough to figure out from that one move if Ardyn was playing seriously yet or not.

“You are doing well, you know.”

“Could never beat you.”

“Not that. You bear your burdens with great dignity.”

Somnus snorted. “What choice do I have?”

“The only choice man ever has. Whether to bear the will of the Gods and the fate they have ordained with grace and nobility, or to lament and wail and come to the same end nonetheless.”

“In that case, what does it matter?”

“In that case, it’s the only thing that does matter. We were born from the dust of this star, and to the dust we shall return, as do all things. And yet, the Gods themselves shall remember your name, and your deeds.”

“Why will I care? I’ll be _dust._ ”

“Somnus…” Ardyn was beginning to feel a prickle of frustration with his brother. He reminded himself that Somnus’ feelings were understandable. But, for Gods’ sake, must he tear down every piece of hope and reassurance that Ardyn was offering? His stubbornness was truly irritating.

“Marcus, bring us wine,” he called to a nearby servant.

“Of course, my lord.”

He turned back to the chessboard, and made a final move.

“Checkmate. Now, shall we drink?”

* * *

Somnus had consumed two glasses of wine, and Ardyn three when the younger man declared that he was turning in for the evening. Ardyn tried to tempt him with the remains of the bottle, just enough for one more glass, but ultimately relented. He drained the rest of the bottle himself before embarking on a somewhat unsteady foray around the gardens.

Aera was waiting by the fountains, under the twisting shadow of the stone Hydrean. A section of the garden was dedicated to each of the Six, Titan stood in a paved courtyard of stone monuments, while a forest grove was dedicated to Ramuh. Ifrit's garden shone bright under the sun, lit up with a bonfire on festival days, while a shrine to Shiva was located in a small cavern under a waterfall, misty and cool even in the summer. Shining silver, Bahamut's pavilion was visible no matter where one stood.

“Have you business with the Tidemother?” Ardyn asked.

“Only the usual. I have requested that she bless our union, and our children besides.”

“Children? How forward-thinking of you, Aera.” Ardyn gave a mischievous smirk. “Perhaps we should start now, so that our capricious sea goddess has something to bless.”

He received a playful slap on the arm for his cheek, though Aera was giggling.

“I'll have you know I am an upstanding woman from a fine family and— don't look at me like that— I would certainly never— stop laughing, you— risk my virtue… in— in such— mmhf!”

He cut her words short with a press of lips, and she leaned into the kiss, the taste of mint leaves on her breath. When he pulled back, she chased him, for another a kiss deeper than the first. When they parted, Ardyn brushed her hair behind her ear and chuckled.

“Ah yes, a fine and upstanding lady indeed. At least in all the ways that matter to me.”

He sat on the stone that bordered the fountain, lowering his weight with a heavy sigh.

“What troubles you, my lord?” Aera asked quietly.

“Nothing out of the usual. I am worried for the sake of my brother.”

“You have nothing to fear. The Gods shall be his aid.”

“So you have said.” Ardyn hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Do you doubt me?” 

“Never, Aera. Not you.” His eyes traced the dampness and grime scoring the stones at his feet. “It is simply difficult to watch and wait. He suffers, and I fear that he is losing faith. I feel… I feel that I must do something. But what can be done?”

“Heavy is his burden,” she mused. “It is not ours to bear, nor to take from him. But as his brother, you have a role to play. You must stand by him, and keep faith in him, even when he himself is lost.”

He met her eyes, finding comfort in her gentle smile. She was right, as always. He could not allow his petty frustrations with Somnus to descend into bickering. He must be strong when his brother could not. How could he ask less from himself, when his duty was so much lighter?

“As I will stand by you, of course,” Aera said, her hand soft on his cheek.

“Blessed am I indeed,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her again.

* * *

Somnus was not in the garden. In recent weeks, he had been spending his weekly day of rest almost entirely in bed, emerging only in the late afternoon or early evening, when the sun was already waning orange. But it was yet morning when Ardyn opened the door to his room and he cringed at the shaft of light that fell across his face, pulling the blankets higher.

“Your physician says that you should try to rise in the morning, at least for a short time. It is not healthy to never see the sun.”

Somnus muttered something incomprehensible into the bed. From what Ardyn could catch, it sounded like he was suggesting the physician perform an indecent and improbable feat of anatomy.

Ardyn took a wooden chair from the corner and placed it by the bedside. It creaked under his weight as he sat, and a glance downward confirmed that the carved legs were looking rather the worse for wear, as if it had been thrown. He turned to Somnus.

“How are you feeling?”

“Shit,” came the clipped response.

“Ah.”

The conversation stalled.

“Is there anything you require? Water? A meal? I can fetch the servants.”

There was a noise from the blankets which Ardyn interpreted as a refusal. He let the silence drag on for a little longer.

“I hope you know that I find you admirable.”

“Thank you.”

The words came out in a muffled groan, yet sounded more sincere than anything he had heard from Somnus in a while. Ardyn decided to venture further.

“Aera wished me to assure you that the Gods watch over you.”

Somnus grunted. “Has she heard word from them?”

“Not yet. But have faith, brother. All shall proceed as they have decreed.”

Somnus’ response was to grab a nearby chamberpot and vomit into it. Ardyn leaned in, rubbing between his shoulders as he retched and heaved, then gasped for breath.

“And what do the Gods think when they see this, I wonder?” he rasped, “Is this truly the glorious savior that they have ordained?”

“Wait just a moment. I will fetch you water.” Ardyn knew that Somnus was wary of the servants seeing him in such a state. The wrappings on his arms had fallen loose, revealing dark and mottled bruises that reached up to his shoulder, inky tendrils extending further under the cloth of his robe. As Ardyn watched, the markings seemed to sway like seaweed pulled by an invisible current. His breath caught in his throat as he left the room.

When he returned with a silver goblet of springwater, Somnus had turned to face the wall.

“Why do the Gods remain silent, brother? Have I not sacrificed according to their will?”

Ardyn placed the goblet by the bedside.

“Does my suffering please them? Am I being punished? Or are they simply indifferent?”

“Have faith, Somnus.”

Somnus sat up abruptly, hurling the covers to his feet.

“Faith in what, brother!? Is that all you can say? What have the Gods done to deserve an iota of my-”

“You were chosen, blessed—” said Ardyn, surprised at his outburst, but Somnus continued.

“I was cursed! My gifts have brought me nothing but suffering, and yet the Heavens remain unmoved! Ask your dear Oracle, if she has heard a single world. Or does she simply exist to dispense platitudes?”

“You will leave her out of this,” Ardyn warned.

“Hell if I will,” Somnus snarled, “Tell her to ask, then. When I have dispensed with the Scourge, what will be my reward?”

“You have eased the people’s suffering! They look to you in gratitude! None of this could have— without you— ”

“And the Gods do nothing, and she does nothing, and you do nothing! Ah, but of course, there’s nothing you _can_ do. Nothing you can do besides pacify Somnus, to make sure he suffers in silence like a lamb raised as an offering. Nothing you can do but offer me, body and soul, to the Scourge, to appease it, to prevent the people from rioting.”

“Somnus…” Ardyn curled in on himself. He wanted to tell Somnus that he was all wrong, but the words contained a horrible truth. It wasn’t that Ardyn wanted to sacrifice his brother for the greater good. But had he not lamented himself his own inability to do more? Guilt roiled in his chest, and with it anger, at the idea that he had _wanted_ anything to be this way. He bit his tongue, sure that anything he said would make things worse.

“Get out,” Somnus said, his voice dull and hollow in the silence.

“I will take my leave, brother. You must rest. I will send Gil to check on you in the evening.”

There was no response. Ardyn made sure to close the door quietly as he exited. 

* * *

“I need you to talk with him.”

It was a bright day, and Aera ran a hand along the leaves of the plants that lined the pathway.

Aera sighed, “Somnus has never opened up to me, not in the way that he is open with you. If he will not speak to you, what chance do I have?”

“We have to try something,” Ardyn argued. “The current state of things is… untenable…”

They reached the pavilion of Bahamut. Beyond it lay the great hall that held the Crystal.

“I will ask the Gods for guidance once again. But I cannot force them to speak.”

“This I know,” said Ardyn. He leaned forward to kiss her. “I know this tires you. Be safe, my love.”

“Worry not, my faith is strong,” Aera smiled. “The Gods may test my devotion, but they will not break me.”

 _As Somnus seems to be breaking?_ Ardyn thought to ask, but held his tongue. Aera ascended the steps with a solemn dignity that seemed to weigh on her shoulders. But the delicate form of her back was straight and strong, and as the wind teased at her robes and golden hair, Ardyn couldn’t help but be awed by her once again. When the shadows of the hall had concealed her entirely, he retired to stroll once more around the gardens, hoping it would clear his mind.

He had lit a stick of incense for the Infernian and watched as it burned down, but neither the sight nor scent, nor any divine presence calmed the anxiety in him. He moved on to skipping stones in the Hydrean’s fountain, hoping to distract himself. When he reached the silver pavilion again, the sunlight’s glare was almost blinding, and beyond that, he heard a shout.

“Ardyn!” Aera called. He ran to her.

“Have they spoken?” Ardyn asked. Aera’s hand gripped his forearm tightly, and her eyes looked into his with a trace of fear.

“I— I heard the Draconian. He says that a new kingdom shall be founded to protect the Crystal from the Scourge. One— one of the two of you— will be chosen as King.”

* * *

“King?” said Somnus. His tone was disarmingly casual, a glimmer of the old days, but somewhere under the surface there was a hint of something else, an interest he had not shown in some time. Call it ambition.

“So that is to be my reward.” He tightened his gauntlet, and flexed his fingers.

“I… would caution against assuming too much,” Ardyn ventured. “The Gods said one of us would be chosen.”

“Hah. And you think it will be you?” There was a competitive glint in Somnus’ eyes, like when they played chess, but more so. “I think the choice is obvious.”

“And I would happily see you crowned, brother. In my eyes, you are more than deserving. Yet… the Gods have their own ways… I simply…”

“You don’t want me to get my hopes up.”

“Precisely.”

Somnus gazed out the window, at the crowds already forming. “Do I not deserve hope? My toil is endless. More of them come every day. The Scourge is spreading.”

“I…”

“See, if you truly cared, brother, you would take measures.”

“You know I am powerless.”

“You are not, though you pretend to be. They journey from the far reaches to seek my help— has it not occurred to you that they carry the disease with them? That some must fall along the way, and thus spread the miasma where they fall?” His grip clenched on the windowsill. “That in the end, my efforts have served to make this problem worse?”

“What would you have me do?”

“Use your authority. _Our_ authority. Take the worst infected areas, and prohibit anyone from entering or leaving. Mandate the burning of corpses. Restrict travel without written permission.”

Ardyn sucked in a breath. “To do so would be a death sentence for thousands! You must understand that! And then, you would deny their loved ones even the chance to bury their dead!”

“Better to burn the dead than to die in agony oneself.”

“How cold can you be?”

“How spineless can you be, brother!? Do you only see the faces of those who depart here, smiling? Do you not think of those who were not strong enough for the journey, of those who were too impoverished to travel in the first place? Those who arrive have paid to be carried in carriages and carts, or were lent such by family who had them to spare. Surely you cannot think that they walk?”

“Why should it matter how they arrive? Each of them is deserving of aid!”

“Because it isn’t fair! In all my sacrifices, I am not serving the masses. My aid is limited, and it goes to those chosen by circumstance, not the most deserving. And meanwhile, far away, out of your sight, the disease spreads, and the people suffer. Better to end it, no matter the cost.”

“The cost is too great. No, there is no price that can be put on the lives of our people, Somnus. I would have expected you, of all people, to understand that.”

“Well, now I do understand, brother. The only death warrant you are willing to sign is mine.”

Ardyn wondered why it was that he always ended up the one lost for words. Somnus was so wrong, so mistaken in everything. Yet he threw out accusations one after another, leaving Ardyn spluttering. As soon as he countered one, three more sprouted from the seemingly endless well of discontent within his brother.

Somnus adjusted his cape. “I must go. The lucky ones await me,” he said, with bitter cynicism, as he left the room.

Ardyn stood there for some time, watching out the window at the crowds below. So many gathered these days, Somnus was, at least, not wrong about that. But he must not give in to despair. Perhaps if he was made King, and granted the power of the Crystal, he would finally be able to turn the tide. Perhaps the Gods would finally see fit to take away the growing anger and despair inside him. Perhaps.

There were many doubts inside Ardyn these days, always gnawing somewhere inside his chest. But Aera could not be wrong. The Gods could not abandon them. Thus, he decided, the only path forward that he could see must be the one intended, no matter how unlikely it felt.

* * *

The pen in his hand was heavy as he signed the decree. Guards would be posted, to restrict travel to certain routes, to require written permission to pass certain towns that would serve as checkpoints. It would allow them to keep better track of the numbers of the ill, and their villages of origin. In theory, it would not actually prevent anyone from making the journey. In practice, it was an additional delay and burden, one that would surely be the tipping point between life and death for some of the unfortunate.

It was a compromise with Somnus. His younger brother’s mistrust had grown deeper, and his accusations wilder. In the throes of a fever, he had lashed out with a summoned knife, babbling that Ardyn wished to sacrifice him, and then, once Somnus was gone, take the throne for himself. He hoped that this would prove otherwise, that he was willing to do what he could to assist.

Within reason, of course. He had refused to quarantine even the worst affected areas, ones where it was rumored that there were only daemons left. He could not bear the thought of trapping an innocent person in such a place, let alone burning them along with the corpses and daemons, as Somnus had suggested.

And, with the decree in place, he prepared to leave the Caelum manor. He had stayed in the hopes that his presence would soothe Somnus, but now that it was having the opposite effect, he thought that it might be better to travel the land and examine the state of things for himself. Aera herself wished to visit the ruins of old Solheim, to find any lost scrap of records or prophecy that might address the plague. He would meet her there.

He had stated his intentions to Somnus, but could not be sure of how much the younger man was listening to him, or whether he was trusted. And so he had written a long letter, one that he hoped Somnus could read with a cool head.

“Gilgamesh. I entrust this to you. Please, do all you can to take care of him.”

Gilgamesh nodded. “Of course, my lord. I swear on my life that no harm shall come to him in your absence.”

Steady and determined, he had always found the older man a reassuring presence, ever since he had begun training with the Blademaster. As he was escorted to the gate, he felt sure that he would miss the Shield’s strong and silent presence.

“Fare thee well, Lord Caelum.”


	2. Revelation

Ardyn sighed as he tightened the straps on his saddle and mounted his chocobo, heading away from the town in which he had spent the previous night. Formerly a small settlement, it had swollen at the edges with hastily established dwellings, encampments of those who were travelling to the capital. As he approached the outskirts, the moans of the sick and dying reached his ears, and he lowered his head in grief and shame at his inability to assist.

_ Somnus, if you were here, what would you say? _

He wondered if his younger brother would wade into the crowd to try and help. The desperation was so palpable, they might have ripped him apart. Or would Somnus insist they come to him in an orderly line, travel permits in hand? The restrictions had been implemented at his suggestion, after all.

But to the people, Ardyn was the face of those restrictions, as he traveled the common routes to establish the checkpoints and ensure that they worked as smoothly as possible. In the previous town, he had found a guard demanding exorbitant bribes, and dragged him into the town square for an execution, which he had carried out with his own blade. The man’s victims had cheered him, but the faces of the townspeople had been like stone. Later, he had overheard them saying, that if their town was to be overrun by diseased strangers, they should at least benefit in some way. Hard times produced heartlessness. And when he had arrived in this town, a woman had come to spit at his feet— whether for burdening the sick with his laws, or for allowing them into the town in the first place, he did not know.

It was for the sake of his brother, he reminded himself. He hated everything that he was doing, but it was the only thing that he could do to prevent Somnus from collapsing under his burden. Every morning and evening, he prayed to the Gods to send their help quickly. He expected and received no response— he was not the Oracle, after all.

He passed the outskirts of the encampment, and in the early afternoon, he arrived at a mound of stone in a grove of trees. As he approached, snatches of a singing voice came to him on the breeze. He didn’t understand the tongue, but he looked up to see Aera, clothes and hair blown about by the force of some strange energy, illuminated by a blue glow spreading across the stone dome. Markings appeared on the stone, etched by an unseen hand, and the glow faded with the last notes of the song. He watched in admiration, her voice and the sight of her had soothed him, lifting his weariness in an instant. She turned to him.

“Ardyn!”

He made his way to her side and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Oh, I have missed you.”

Her fingers entwined around the back of his neck. “And I you. You must be exhausted from your travels. Let us rest here for the evening.”

Now that the ritual, with its strange sights and sounds was over, her white chocobo made its way onto the haven, pausing to peck curiously at one of the still glowing runes. She reached into its saddlebag and withdrew provisions, some bread and cheese, and a skin of wine. Ardyn had managed to acquire some fresh grapes from the market the previous day, and also carried mats for sleeping, which he retrieved. They settled onto the haven and passed the afternoon in relaxed silence, no words were necessary between them. He held a ripe grape and offered it to her, and she took it from his hand with her coral lips. The wine was sweet and strong, and soon he was dozing in her lap.

The sun had almost set by the time either of them broached serious conversation. Aera spoke first.

“The things that I have seen on my way here. They trouble me.”

“Oh, Aera.” Ardyn pulled her close. “Who could see these things and not be troubled? It would take a heart of stone…”

“Dark are the times we live in,” she murmured, “I pray that the Gods bring their deliverance.”

“As do I.” Ardyn stroked her hair. “But I have never doubted you, not for a moment. Your voice could move the heavens themselves.”

“And yet… the heavens remain unmoved.” A stricken look passed across her face. “Forgive me. Sometimes I wonder…”

“Aera…” He could not allow her to say what came next, those doubts must remain unspoken, lest they materialize. Aera seemed to understand, she simply buried her face in his shoulder.

“It is not for us to doubt the Gods,” he murmured, and her hands tightened in his cloak. “Pray rest, Aera. The morning will bring deliverance.”

“Yes.” She began arranging their bedrolls on the stone, side-by-side, and took her place. Ardyn lay beside her, and took her hand.

“Goodnight, my love.”

* * *

The morning was bright, and he had already begun to sweat by the time he awoke. He threw off his blanket, and sat on his bedroll, observing the sights and sounds of the day. The forest trilled with birds, insects and frogs. Beside him, Aera stirred and rubbed her eyes.

“Good morning.” He handed her some of their provisions, flatbread and some of the remaining grapes. She ate quietly, also taking in the morning.

“Now, where is our destination?” he asked. Aera withdrew a map from her pack, and spread it on the stone.

“A ruin, about two miles west as the crow flies, but there is a swamp here,” she jabbed a finger at the parchment, “We can climb the ridges to the north, or circle around through the forest to the south.”

“The hills will offer the benefit of a clear line of sight,” he observed, “and the air is likely to be cooler. This day is already too warm for my tastes.”

“As long as you feel up to the climb,” Aera replied, fastening her saddlebags to her chocobo and climbing on. “You’d better keep up.”

He mounted his own chocobo and spurred her on.

* * *

The hills were marked by a narrow, rocky trail, which they navigated with care. Even with the chocobos, they scarcely made better time than they would have on foot. But there was, at least, a fresh breeze and a pleasant view over the forests below. Before long, a crumbling tower came into view.

“I suppose these are your ruins?” Ardyn ventured.

Aera nodded. As they crested the final ridge, Ardyn could see the remains of fortifications surrounding the tower. Much of the stone had been worn away by the elements, or else scavenged for more recent construction. Even damaged, the stone hewn by their predecessors was a cut above what could be quarried by normal means, and Ardyn wondered, not for the first time, what forgotten tools and techniques their ancestors had possessed. Perhaps they even knew the secrets of the plague, and how to cure it.

Then again, they were all dead, so perhaps not.

They approached the outermost ramparts, and Aera dismounted her chocobo, securing it in the shade of a nearby tree. Ardyn followed suit. The undergrowth was apparently palatable, and the chocobos quickly became occupied with grazing. Aera made her way to the nearest wall, inspecting a row of weathered glyphs.

“What does it say?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Ah.”

Nevertheless, she withdrew a scrap of bark-paper from her satchel, and began copying the symbols down.

“I hope that— if we can find enough examples— then perhaps— oh, but if only we could find an inscription in a verifiable tongue! If there were a basis for comparison—”

To Ardyn, it sounded like a tedious exercise, but if it interested Aera, then he would find as many old rock squiggles as it took to please her. If she could glean useful information from them, all the better.

When she had finished copying the glyphs, they proceeded deeper into the ruins, Aera stopping at each new pile of rubble to examine it for intact inscriptions. Most of the time, she came away with pursed lips and a shake of the head, nothing remained that was legible. Ardyn simply followed at a meandering pace. The sun was high now and sweat was beginning to run down his brow, but the ruins and forest were peaceful, and Aera was by his side. It was a welcome relief from the grim duty of monitoring the spread of the Scourge. Here, he could almost pretend that there was no plague at all, just himself and his Oracle.

They arrived at the innermost set of walls, and Aera squealed with excitement. There was a large intact section with the carved image of a horned man, casting smaller human figures into flames below. Their agonized expressions had been eroded by time, and now they stared back with empty eyes and melted features. Ardyn found it an unpleasant image, but he stood watch as Aera began to note down the composition and text surrounding it.

“This— I am sure this depicts the Infernian— a punishment? What for? Oh, but see how these characters are carved within a cartouche? It’s almost certainly his name— Ifrit— this could be the key—”

She hummed a pleased tune as she continued to scribble. Ardyn left her to it, and wandered in the direction of the central tower. Strangely, it seemed to have no entrance at all, just walls that stretched toward the sky. Even the pagoda of Bahamut, the tallest structure on the grounds of the Caelum manor, was outclassed by this, and furthermore, the top of the structure seemed to be missing entirely, torn and jagged. There was a hole in one of the walls, and he stooped to enter. But the inside of the tower was just as bare. A dais rested in the center, and a circle of light penetrated from above, reaching partway down the wall. But where Ardyn stood was chill shadow.

There was a sharp pain in his left hand and he cried out and wheeled. The horrible eyes of an imp gazed up at him, and he summoned his blade, plunging it through the daemon’s chest. It dissolved into a cloud of dust. Gritting his teeth, he looked down at his hand, dripping blood from a semicircle of puncture marks. There was a burning sting to the wound.

“Ardyn!” Aera had heard his cry, and was waiting when he emerged from the hole in the tower.

“There was a daemon. Just a small one, and I killed it. But we must leave this place.”

She nodded, then looked troubled, “You’re bleeding.”

“Just a scratch.” She continued to hesitate. “Now, Aera!”

“Alright,” she relented. She turned back the way they had come, and he raised his uninjured hand to the small of her back, protective and on guard. He breathed a sigh of relief when they passed the outer boundary of the ruins and found the chocobos, still pecking at roots and insects. 

“Come here,” Aera instructed, and he offered her his hand meekly. She rinsed the wound with the contents of a waterskin, and bandaged it with one of the cloth wrappings that had held provisions.

“I don’t like the sight of it.”

“Come, Aera. It is not serious.”

“Those tooth marks are deep. You must avoid using the hand until they have healed. Ah— there were herbs growing by the campsite. I’ll make a poultice this evening.”

“As you wish.” He mounted his chocobo as best he could one-handed, and let her lead the way back up to the ridge. The sky was orange and the shadows were long by the time their campsite came into view.

Ardyn took the chocobos to a nearby stream for water, while Aera started the campfire and began preparing their food, and the herbs she had gathered. When he returned, she beckoned him, and unbandaged his wound to apply a thick, grassy-smelling paste. Ardyn winced as she packed it into the toothmarks.

“Oh, don’t be a child,” she chided.

She replaced his bandages with fresh cloth, then served the stew that had been simmering on the fire in wooden bowls. Ardyn balanced his bowl somewhat awkwardly in the palm of his bandaged hand while he quickly ate with his good one. Aera, too, hurried through her meal before spreading out her notes and drawings in the light of the campfire to study them further.

“They will still be there in the morning, Aera. Don’t strain your eyes,” said Ardyn, climbing into his bedroll.

She only sighed, and continued to squint at the pages in flickering firelight, but eventually was forced to concede. She joined him, and he lay awake, watching sleep take her before drifting off himself.

* * *

She left the next morning. The next few days would be particularly auspicious for communicating with the Gods, and she hoped to receive the prophecy when she returned to the temple.

“Safe journey, my love,” said Ardyn, as she leaned down from her chocobo to kiss him farewell.

“You as well, dear. May the light of the Gods go with you.”

Ardyn lingered at the haven, hesitant to return to civilization and its strife. There were only blue skies above, and it was hard to believe that there was darkness in the world. Aera had left him a supply of the herbal ointment, and so he set about changing the dressings on his wound again. When he unbound it, the flesh was mottled and bruised, which was to be expected, but something made him rinse off the poultice for a closer look.

Stark against the red of the wound, and the purpled bruising, was a jet black line.

* * *

“You have sentenced us to death!”

“How can you do this? May Ramuh’s judgement strike you down!”

“Silence! Show your permission to enter this town, or leave!”

“You cannot stop us! We will cross the ranges to the south.”

“And die doing so.”

“Then upon your head be it. You, and the Caelum lords!”

The sounds of the argument carried from outside the hastily erected fortifications surrounding the town. It was a major checkpoint, situated in a valley that was much easily passed through than the surrounding terrain, and so people came in droves. A makeshift village of tents was beginning to form outside the gates, filled with those seeking passage. At first, the traffic had been welcome, as it provided income for the innkeepers, tavern owners, and all manner of businesses, but now that the funeral pyres burned each night in the worst-hit districts, and rumors spread of tainted wells, the townspeople had quickly lost all sympathy for anyone but their own.

Outside the walls too, smoke rose into the morning air from the camp, a sign of one who had succumbed the previous night. Or perhaps they had simply been perceived as close to turning, and were set upon by their fellow travelers. It was hard to tell anymore.

High in a watchtower, Ardyn rubbed the dark creases under his eyes. He, too, was barely welcome within the walls or outside them. The more passports he wrote for the sick, the more the townspeople resented him, and the sick resented him regardless of how many he wrote, for there were never enough.

And Somnus…

Well, who knew how Somnus felt now? Had he even perceived a fall in the number of visitors, and if so, was he thankful to Ardyn? Or did he still feel that his calling was an impossible burden?

There was the sound of somebody on the stairs. He opened the door and was greeted by the sight of one of his own messengers, in the familiar clothing.

“My lord, I bring word from the Oracle,” the young man said, panting.

“Come in,” said Ardyn, “Sit down.” He poured water from the kettle, still warm from being boiled, into a mug for the messenger, who gulped it down.

“What has the Oracle said?”

“The Revelation is complete. Somnus is to be crowned.”

Ardyn closed his eyes and took a breath. The feeling of reassurance he had expected did not come. Yet this had been his hope. After all he had done, Somnus deserved to be chosen by the Gods.

_ — but is he the King that the people deserve? _

He shook off that thought. The Gods had spoken. Now there was only to follow their will. The path was clear now, and he was grateful for it.

“Thank you. Should you need to rest, the servants quarters are downstairs. Ask for Ifalna, she will prepare you a bed.”

The messenger bowed, and took his leave.

Ardyn lowered himself onto the bed, and began his morning ritual of re-dressing his wounds. The toothmarks had scabbed over, and the bruises faded, but the black markings had spread over the back of his hand and begun to creep up his wrist. No herb, or remedy, or prayer had halted it. Time was ticking away.

He thought of his brother, and what his life had become since that evening in the walled garden, when he had awoken to Ardyn’s panicked begging, and wiped the blood from his hand onto his robe. How they had both looked down to see the bruised black settled under the skin, curling around his knuckles and over his wrist. They’d never been able to explain it, how the healing worked or where the strange ability to take in the Scourge came from. But the Caelums had always been blessed with divine powers. For such a thing to manifest when they needed it most could only be the will of the Gods.

Yes, Ardyn was sure that the Gods had a hand in all that occurred. They had been watching, waiting, judging, perhaps. And now they had chosen their King.

It was time for him to make a visit to Somnus.


	3. Tribulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For pacing reasons, I decided to split the last chapter into two chapters and an epilogue.

It was several days on the road before the walls that surrounded the Caelum lands came into view. He made it to the central gate by early afternoon, the buildings strange and shadowless with the sun on high. The robes on his back were stained with sweat and salt, and dust clung to his sleeves. He held the reins of his chocobo in one hand, the other swollen and useless in his lap, and gritted his teeth when it was jostled.

The stables contained blessed shade, and servants to assist him. He entrusted the chocobo to them and made his way toward the central building. He was home at last, and small things snatched at his senses. The way that the fountains bubbled, and the vines that climbed the walls— had he noticed their flowers before? The dirt and disease, the burned rubble of the world which he had immersed himself in, was beyond the walls of their palace. One could think that they barely existed.

Armed guards swung open the heavy wooden doors, but the manor within seemed empty. There was a gloom that lingered in all the corners, like dust that could not be swept away. At first, Ardyn thought that the servants had been remiss in their cleaning duties, or perhaps Somnus had dismissed them all, but the more time he spent in the halls, with a nameless dread prickling at the back of his neck, and shadows flitting at the corner of his eyes, the more he felt that it was the physical manifestation of something unholy.

He looked down at his bandaged hand. There had been too many omens as of late. The harvests had been poor, though lack of laborers was surely a factor in that, and those that read the stars told of ill-portents, vague and indiscernible due to the dark clouds that covered the sky on so many evenings. Even as the sun set and the sky dimmed, it would often spend its last moments above the horizon glaring like a fierce orange eye, the clouds murky and blood red.

Somnus was not in his chambers. After some minutes of searching, Ardyn found him seated at the far end of the empty banquet hall, on an unfamiliar chair of black marble and gold. No, it was a throne.

“Enter,” came the voice from the end of the hall. Ardyn did so.

“Will you bow to me, brother?” Somnus’s skin had taken on a sickly pallor, the circles under his eyes the color of storm clouds and bruising.

“You are not yet a king.”

“I am to be king.” Somnus’s voice rasped, low and dangerous. “I hope you understand that the first thing a king must do when he takes power is to determine who is loyal to him. And who is not. It is a fatal mistake to believe that there are none who wish to overthrow one’s reign, even when appointed by the Gods.”

“Then I will bow to you, as a gesture of goodwill and trust. As your brother.” Ardyn lowered his head slowly and deliberately, feeling Somnus’s eyes upon him as he did so.

“I suppose that was acceptable,” Somnus yawned and rested his cheek on his hand. “Come to me, brother. Tell me about the happenings in the wider world. I find I cannot travel far, these days.”

Ardyn approached.

“I’m afraid I have little good news to share. The Scourge continues to spread, as does unrest among the people. Fear and mistrust are our enemies.”

“How strange. I thought those were the daemons.”

“Naturally,” Ardyn said, with a bite of anger, “we continue to fight the daemons with all of our strength. But we have failed to subdue them.”

Somnus made a disgusted noise.

“It is my hope, Somnus, that when you are crowned king, when the full Light of the Crystal is yours to control, that you will, at last deliver us from this plague. May the Gods bless your reign.”

“And what of yourself, brother? Will you ask nothing else of me?”

“I have,” Ardyn admitted, “one request.” He held out his bandaged hand, and knew from the way that Somnus recoiled that he sensed it, even before he saw the dark markings protruding above and underneath the wrappings.

“You fool,” he hissed, but when his eyes met Ardyn’s, they were shimmering wet at the corners. But in the next moment, he averted his gaze. “Come early in the morning. You will wait with the others.”

Ardyn bit back the sting of his dismissal. He had expected Somnus to heal him then and there, or deny him entirely. To be treated like a stranger was an odd and unexpected wound. But perhaps he should have expected it. Even in his darkest moments, impartial justice had been the measurestick by which Somnus lived.

“Very well. Do rest, my brother.”

Somnus dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

* * *

Ardyn rose before the sun, when the sky had just begun to haze around the horizon. He cleansed his body and re-wrapped his wounds before proceeding to the front courtyard. Outside the gates, there was an encampment, already stirring with activity. Some of the people beyond looked up at him, thin and bedraggled, then turned away when they realized it was the wrong brother. 

Ardyn decided to take the long way around, slipping through a side gate and joining those already risen to queue on the main road outside. There must have been dozens already. Guards soon arrived, armed with pikes and calling for order, and Ardyn found himself on the receiving end of a painful prod when he strayed too far from the center of the road. People around him shivered, moaned, scratched at bleeding sores. Others stared dully ahead, waiting for the gates to open. Those who had gathered behind him pushed forward, and he had no choice but to move with the crowd. A man a dozen or so feet away was vomiting something thick and dark, perhaps Scourge, perhaps blood, but the crowd was so thick that those nearby had no choice but to stay put as the foulness pooled around their feet. Somewhere, a child was crying, and Ardyn searched for them, but the crowd hid them entirely. He could only hope that they would not be trampled.

In the time that he had waited, the sun had risen, though the skies were still hazy. The day was humid, and standing in the feverish, foul-smelling crowd became more difficult to tolerate with every passing minute. It was hard to retain a charitable mindset to those around him, as they shoved and groaned and sweated and coughed up all manner of fluids. He reminded himself, over and over, that he was infected with the exact same contagion, no more worthy than any of the others. As the heat of the day rose, so did the smell, until he felt that he, too, might vomit.

It was mid-morning when Somnus finally emerged, clad in the white robes of a healer, crowned with a silver ornament that wrapped around one ear and toward the back of his head. The horns of Ifrit, who had gifted mankind knowledge and civilization, and served as the first king of that civilization. Servants brought forth a carved chair, a basin of water, a goblet of wine, and Somnus took his place. There was an anxiousness, a stirring in the crowd, like wild beasts about to stampede. The heavy gates were swung open, and the crowd moved as one great force. As tall and strong as Ardyn was compared to these shuffling half-dead, it was all that he could do to stay on his feet. He had been overtaken, the queue, if it could be called that, before him was nearly twice as long as before. Guards lowered their pikes, herding those at the front through the gates. The great river of the crowd narrowed to a point, where one by one they stood before Somnus.

Ardyn saw his brother rinse his hands, then lay them on the man before him. His expression was stern and unmoving, but there was a twitch of what might have been pain as he took the disease into himself. He raised his hands once more, and the guards quickly ushered the man away, his words of thanks cut short. A woman immediately stepped forward to take his place, and Somnus again rinsed his hands in the basin and lay them on her. The process repeated, a compassionless ritual, until after a dozen healings when Somnus took a gulp of wine before resuming.

It was difficult to keep track of the time, but Ardyn felt that at least an hour must have passed before Somnus met his gaze over the heads of the crowd. His expression was unreadable.

_ Are you teaching me a lesson, brother? _ thought Ardyn. The cobblestones were beginning to hurt his feet, his back and legs began to ache, and thirst sawed at his throat. But along with the discomfort welled up a stubborn refusal of self-pity, a determination to bear this with all the dignity that he could muster. Morning had turned into afternoon by the time he reached the head of the crowd, his hair and clothing were bedraggled by sweat, and he was aware that he stunk. The basin of water beside Somnus had been switched out several times, yet it was still a murky grey. It was a testament to his thirst that some wild part of his mind considered drinking it.

For the first time that day, Somnus acknowledged him, a slight nod as he rinsed his hands once again. He did not ask Ardyn where the wound was, reaching for the bandage that he had seen the night before. His hands rested on either side of the arm. A momentary lightness passed through Ardyn, there was a grimace of pain from Somnus, and then the guards were ushering him away.

As he made his way back inside the manor to drink a skin of wine and bathe thoroughly, he guiltily pushed away all thoughts of those still waiting in the crowd.

* * *

He met again with Somnus that evening. His clothes were clean, wine was poured for him, and set next to a chessboard. They opposed each other at the table, which sat before Somnus’s throne.

“And do you yet think me blessed?” said Somnus in a soft voice.

“I think of you as Chosen,” Ardyn replied. “They come to you because there is no one else, because it is you the Gods have bestowed power upon. And now you are to be King. Surely, your efforts have been noticed.”

“So I am. And yet, I find no satisfaction in it. My burden only grows heavier. Already, the sick look to me to fix all of their ills. Now so will the healthy, to repair all the problems wrought by this plague. I look upon the crown as a prisoner looks upon his chains, and how they keep him there to do nothing but the work appointed, until death releases him from his sentence.”

As Somnus spoke, Ardyn’s insides turned cold. First, there was anger, Somnus had been given what he wanted, and he still saw fit to bemoan his fate. But then there was dread, dread for Somnus, for himself and for all of Eos. Their savior remained a broken and bitter man. Nothing could alleviate the dark weight that pressed upon his soul.

There was a chalk-screech as Somnus dragged a pawn across the chessboard without bothering to lift it. Ardyn looked down, countered his move in a familiar pattern, a holding tactic. His mind was searching other strategies entirely. As Somnus leaned across the board, the wide sleeve of his robe revealed the mottled, black-bruise of the Scourge covering the entire visible portion of his arm, up to the flash of his ribs revealed by the movement, and who knew where it ended. Ardyn spoke the thought as soon as it formed.

“Share it with me.”

“What?”

“Your burden. What you’ve been saying has been right all along. You should not have to carry the Scourge alone. And I— I won’t be King. I might not even be needed. What does it matter then, if I ail? Give me—”

Somnus leaned forward, resting a fist upon the chessboard, shivering, and it took Ardyn a moment to realize that it was silent laughter. 

“Your naivety truly knows no bounds. Tell me, how many hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands do you think I have brought back from the verge of death? How many daemons have I vanquished by taking them into myself? I could give you the Scourge until the chill of it stopped your heart, until the flesh melted from your bones, until it twisted you so far that no man would ever recognize what you had once been. Until you no longer remembered yourself. And yet, you are but a teacup and I am the sea. I could pour darkness into you until you overflowed, and it would not make the slightest difference to what I have become.”

On the table, Ardyn’s hands were shaking. He couldn’t believe this, didn’t want to believe this. It was too terrible. But his mind filled with the image of the masses, huddled and seething beyond the gate, and the image of them, filling the roads, coming from every town and village and settlement in a great flood across the land. The shard of ice caught in his chest was a moment of true despair that could no longer be held back. The Gods had given them a single torch to ward off the entire night. They were all doomed from the start.

The scrape of a piece across the chessboard drew him back to the present.

“Checkmate,” said Somnus.


	4. Apocalypse

“Make sure that the aisles are properly marked out for the ceremony, and that guards are posted. It is possible that a desperate person may attempt to grab at his cloak in the hopes of being healed.”

Ardyn gestured to the servants, fewer in number now, indicating to where they should move things. He stifled a yawn, hiding his strained expression behind a sleeve. Rising at dawn had never agreed with him, even on nights when he had slept more than a wink.

“The hall should be decked with oak and myrlberries. Burn incense by each of the columns from mid-morning on. The guardianship of the Hexatheon must be invoked.”

The chamberlain nodded, and elsewhere in the hall, his subordinates flitted from corner to corner, securing the last of the decorations. A vast amount of black fabric had been procured at great expense for banners and flags that hung on the walls. Ardyn stalked the venue, overseeing the preparations. His patience was thin and his nerves ragged, as though by making the trappings of the ceremony perfect, he could somehow influence whatever came after it.

The kingly raiment that had been prepared for Somnus was also black, with flashes of his favored blue at the opening of the sleeves and hem. The collar rose high around the neck, and the sleeves draped down so far that they would almost completely hide his hands. No one would see the markings spreading across his body like tainted veins. The servants prepared powder and paint for his complexion, kohl to brighten his eyes. The people would not have reason to doubt the health and strength of their king.

His disposition was another matter. Though he spent his days healing the people, he spared no words of kindness for them, no encouraging smiles. Enough had spoken of their encounters with him for it to be whispered that he was a cold and intimidating man. It pained Ardyn to hear his brother spoken of in negative tones, but he had to admit that Somnus rarely bothered to keep up a kindly or noble facade.

Still, all he had to do was walk to the altar and accept the sacred ring, then touch the Crystal and say a few gracious words. Surely he would not feel that this was an imposition, not for one about to ascend the throne as the founder of a glorious new age. Ardyn sighed and slumped against a column. No, if it were possible for Somnus to complain about a thing, he absolutely would. Just as it was in Ardyn’s nature to play peacemaker and try to satisfy all parties.

Goodness, they really were a pair.

He straightened his posture and rolled up his sleeves. There was still much to prepare for the ceremony, and so he set off on another circuit of the hall.

His eyes were drawn to the white-clad figure lingering beside a pillar and gazing down at the ring held in the palm of her hand, a gift from the Gods that would finally be passed to its rightful owner. Aera’s complexion was as pale as her clothing, and her exposed arms shivered, just enough for him to notice and frown. The hall was cool, but not cold.

“Worry not, Aera,” he said, taking her in his arms. She leaned into his chest.

“I am not worried,” she said, then continued before he could contradict her. “To worry means to doubt in the possibilities of the future. But I have no doubts, nor possibilities. There is only what the Gods have ordained.”

“Indeed,” he said, raising a hand to stroke her hair. His fear from the previous night had subsided like a bad dream, and in her presence, he felt once more that the way forward would eventually become clear. What else were prophecies for?

Aera turned her head to one side and spoke, “Do you trust me still?”

“Of course I do,” he replied, holding onto her tightly. “Without your guidance, we would have all been lost long ago.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“I tried to find another way,” she said, as if voicing a confession. “My research… if I had had more time… then perhaps…” Her hand closed around the ring to conceal it.

He shook his head. “It is not upon you to cure the Scourge. Nor upon me. The Gods have made their decision.” She smiled faintly, then stepped away, straightening her back, a solemn expression covering her face like a veil.

“I commit myself unto my duty. May the Gods guide us all.”

* * *

When the sun was lingering just above the horizon, the guests were permitted to enter the hall. The highest of noble families took their seats at the front, and behind them were nobility and gentry from smaller towns and outlying areas. At the very back of the hall, commoners crowded, standing. The disc of the sun touched the horizon, and the ceremony began. Ardyn raised his voice to reach the far ends of the hall.

“Citizens of our beloved land, my brothers and sisters... The Gods have voiced their will through the Oracle, and today we celebrate the founding of a new kingdom. The days we live in may be dark, but it shall not always be so. Guided by the light of the Crystal, we shall usher in a new era. Our kingdom shall be known as Lucis, the keeper of the Light. I announce to you your new King, Somnus Lucis Caelum! Long may he reign!”

Somnus entered from the back of the hall, clad in his raiment. Silver chains and clasps decorated him, the silver horns sat perched above his ear. He moved slowly, face painted, seeming to glide under his robe and cape, and the effect was almost unnatural. The people watched him, cheered for him, bowed to him, but his eyes did not stray from the path to the altar, illuminated by the setting sun. As he arrived, the last orange rays faded, so did the shadowed patterns on the floor, everything dim in the sunset afterglow and the blue shimmer of the Crystal.

Aera stood beside the altar, trident in one hand, a ring in the other. She reached out to Somnus, and their hands touched, her fingers skimming over his as she slid the ring onto his finger. There was a moment in which her hand flinched, quickly brought back under control, mirrored by a furrowing of the eyebrows from Somnus. She released his hand a little too quickly, and hesitated before genuflecting. 

“Rule well, oh Chosen King.”

He nodded, then began to ascend the stairs toward the Crystal. Ardyn noticed a grimace of pain, a drag of the leg as he did so. He moved with a grim determination, as though leaning into a wind that was determined to push him back, slowing with each step he took. Ardyn’s fingernails were digging into his palm. Somnus reached the top of the stairs, and his outstretched hand, bearing the ring, made contact with the Crystal.

It was as though a storm had been unleashed within the hall itself. A force stronger than any gale whipped throughout the space as people cried out and shielded their faces. Flashes of light and darkness— not shadow, not an absence of light, something more, something solid like a bruise on reality— lashed at their eyes. Within the center of it all, the howling chaos, stood a figure silhouetted against the Crystal, which shone like starlight brought close. Like a shadow on a wall, he stretched and distorted against the light, until he barely seemed human. Ardyn realized that the screech he heard was not the wind at all, but a monstrous cry from the twisting figure. In the flickering light, he saw things he could not describe, horns, wings, eyes, shifting too quickly for his eyes to perceive. The creature howled as the Crystal’s power forced it back.

For a moment, Ardyn’s eyes searched the dais for Somnus, as if denying what he had seen could cause it to change. That creature was his brother’s true shape, the endless sea, the abyss of darkness that Somnus had described to him.

_ Is this, too, the will of the Gods? _

He must act. The Crystal was the soul of the Star, inviolable. Somnus, or the daemon that had once been Somnus, could not be allowed to strike it in his rage, to pollute it with the darkness that he carried. Ardyn was certain that this was why the Crystal itself had reacted with such ferocity. The very heart of their world was fighting desperately to defend itself. He drew his blade.

But Aera had been faster, less hesitant. Her trident glinted as she thrust it into the mass of darkness, chanting stridently in unearthly tongues, and the creature shuddered, halted, howled in agony. Then it turned on her— no, it did not turn, but it  _ shifted, _ now facing the foe who had impaled it. It was too horrible to comprehend, the way the surface rippled and distorted, jaws and teeth forming out of nothing, ripping, tearing, then releasing what was left to fall.

“Aera!”  _ Gods, no, gods, gods, gods! _ “Aera!”

He reached the creature at the same moment that Gilgamesh did, the guards trailing them. Their blades tore and hacked at the mass of darkness. The battle was a blur around Ardyn, he screamed in rage and grief at this monster, this horror, that had consumed his brother, killed his lover, threatened all that was left in the world. The whirl of blades hacked off limbs and heads and misformed hunks of dark flesh, yet the creature kept coming. There were screams, groans of pain, bodies and blood that slid to the floor. A tendril of the dark mass shot forth, opening up a gash on Ardyn’s arm like the sharpest knife. He phased to let the strikes pass through him, but an unseen blow sent crushing, radiating pain through his hip into his whole body. He half-lunged, half-fell, and his blade finally pierced the center of the shrinking mass. It shuddered, and in its moment of weakness, a second blade thrust through it from behind, followed by another, and another, until it had been pierced from all angles.

The hall dripped with blood and black ichor. Ardyn looked around to find that it was mostly empty, a few guards left standing behind him, a crush of people toward the far end still trying to push through the doors. The pews had long since been vacated, except for the broken corpses hung over them here and there. His eyes met Gilgamesh’s, over the stilling form impaled on their blades, the darkness dissipating and melting away to reveal a familiar pale face, hanging limp, marred with dark veins. He withdrew his sword, and the others followed suit, allowing Somnus’s remains to fall to the floor. Ardyn slumped next to him, his legs failed to hold him up.

“Your Lordship, he yet lives,” Gilgamesh’s voice was low and grim. A choked noise escaped Ardyn— would Somnus refuse to die until his own brother was forced to speak the order? But neither could he be allowed to live after what had just transpired. He had been rejected by the Crystal, struck down the Oracle, killed his own guards and subjects. If he had retained conscious awareness of his deeds, then he was a murderer. If not… he was a monster. Ardyn’s hands twisted in his bloodied robe. The shattered crown lay on the ground beside them.

“Finish it,” he said, forcing out the words with a heaving breath.

Two of the guards dragged Somnus’s unconscious form into a kneeling position, and Gilgamesh took his place beside them. He lined his blade up with Somnus’s neck, and then severed it with one clean strike. The guards lay out his body, and Ardyn knelt beside his brother, taking his cold hand.

“I never wanted it to come to this…” But even as he spoke, a dark haze began to cover Somnus’s form. His outline became blurry and indistinct, like scattered dust, distorting before Ardyn’s eyes. The hand clenched in Ardyn’s flexed, moving of its own accord. And the shape before him now had a head.

There was the sickening thunk of metal sliding through flesh and hitting stone. Gilgamesh’s blade sank through Somnus’s heart, and his corpse stilled once more. He hauled Ardyn to his feet, supporting him on his injured side, and dragged him back.

“He… can’t die?” The words escaped Ardyn in disbelief.

“We have dealt him mortal wounds many times over,” stated Gilgamesh. “I believe it is only a matter of time until he rises again.”

Ardyn was silent.

“What are your orders?”

Ardyn gave a hopeless laugh.  _ Orders! _ Of course, there was no king to give them. And yet, there could not be a new king until the old one was pronounced dead.

“Angelgard. The purifying cells. There are chains there, said to be forged by the Draconian himself. Travel quickly, and keep the light on him, as much as you can spare. If he rises, you must strike him down again. Tell no one.”

Gilgamesh nodded. With a bow, he turned from Ardyn and began commanding the guards. Several hurried over to help Ardyn stand.

He knew that it was worthless, but the words formed in his throat, unbidden.

“Aera… she is…?”

A guard shook his head, leading Ardyn from the room. He followed, or was he being carried? He had no memory or awareness of moving his own legs, no desire to move in any direction. There was only the pain and the grief, and the thick, heavy exhaustion. Terror and rage subsided and with them took all the color and sound of the world. He raised a hand to his face and it came away smeared with blood, filth and tears that he hadn’t realized he was shedding.

At the threshold he looked back, but Somnus was already hidden from view.


	5. Requiem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue.

The black marble of the throne was hard and cold underneath him, and the Crystal hung above it like an executioner’s axe. Ardyn recalled the day when he had finally recovered enough from his injuries to limp down the aisle for his own coronation, a rather less well-attended affair than the previous one. Trembling with fear, he had touched the Crystal, and it had remained cool and silent under his fingertips. He slid the Ring onto his fingers, the final mark of kingship.

Then it had happened.

ARDYN LUCIS CAELUM.

The voice was so deafening that it could only have come from inside of him. He shuddered and stumbled under the force.

THE DRACONIAN BESTOWS UPON THEE THIS REVELATION.

Pain shot through his head, he was only vaguely aware of concerned whispers from the people around him, their hands reaching to steady him.

THY BLOOD MUST REMAIN STRONG, AND THY DESCENDANTS UPON THE THRONE.

FOR ONE DAY, DARKNESS SHALL CONSUME THE WORLD.

Visions swam across the inside of his skull, daemons ravaging a sunless wasteland, the earth bare and burned from horizon to horizon. Creatures of the dark swarmed like maggots in a wound. It was incomprehensible, indescribable, sickening to the core.

He was clutching the hand that wore the ring, tearing at his own skin, when a bright spot appeared in his vision. It rose like the sun, brighter and brighter, until all he could see was the light.

IT IS THEN THAT THE CHOSEN KING SHALL ARISE, AND PURGE THE DARKNESS WITH THE POWER OF THE CRYSTAL.

He saw then, a figure of light ringed with shining blades, sat upon a throne.

THY CALLING IS TO DEFEND THE CRYSTAL UNTIL THAT DAY.

And he saw, like himself, a hundred others stretching across the ages, the Ring on their hand and the light of the Crystal shining in their eyes, united in one purpose.

THUS HAVE THE GODS FORETOLD.

The room around him returned to his vision, fuzzy at first, but gaining clarity. His heart was pounding, cold sweat on his forehead. The god’s presence vanished, like the weight of a boulder being removed, long before he had composed himself enough to demand answers. But perhaps the vision he had been given was answer enough. It must not come to pass. He had been chosen from the beginning to see it through. The Gods did not err.

It was humanity that fell short, ever and always. Somnus was dead. So he had told his people, and so it became truth, for he persuaded himself that the real Somnus had died long before he had been named king, and touched the Crystal. He had failed in his task, fallen from the God’s graces, and so they had struck him down. A tragic end for a beloved brother.

As the decades passed, so did the healer fade from public memory. Somnus’s taciturn nature had left those he healed with little impression of the man himself. He was spoken of less and less, his memory and deeds being attributed to a nebulous and mystic figure, until it was almost forgotten that he was a son of House Caelum. After all, hadn’t the king’s brother died from the Scourge? Yes, he was attacked by a daemon in childhood. He couldn’t have lived much longer after that…

And Ardyn let it happen. He advised those close to him to speak quietly and with caution, when it came to matters that might confuse and frighten his people. He ordered the commissioning of new histories to commemorate the new era heralded by the founding of his kingdom. The details were spared. His brother, he reasoned, would not wish to be remembered as a monster.

He spoke to his children and grandchildren alone of the revelation he had received, and the daemon that he had defeated and hidden on the Umbral Isle. The monster that shared their blood and would someday return for them. “Adagium,” he said, “for it is a lesson that must not be forgotten. Of power and how it must be used to serve the Gods with grace and submission.”

When he turned gray and frail, and retired to his bed for the last time, he lingered there for several days. There was no one present to hear a feverish old man speak the name “Somnus” one final time in the hours before dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I always appreciate feedback in the form of both kudos and comments


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